the smuggler’s bible


Convalescence makes a grab for the rear car of the 10:15 northbound out of Piedmont. A fella told her once that there was work to be had and nicer people just a little farther up the coast. Trouble being, the old girl is neither so nimble nor so spry as she once was. Her leap carries her onto a train heading west on the rough tracks before dog-legging south. She spends the trip in the bar car, oblivious.

“People say the opportunities are low-hanging and juicy in these parts,” Convalescence says later.

The stationmaster manages a frown, but that’s it.